


Greener than Grass

by themastersbeard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themastersbeard/pseuds/themastersbeard
Summary: Finn tries to hide his face behind his coffee cup. It must be doing something complicated-- a combination ofplease don’t ever stop and please stop but only so we can go back to your apartment and do this with our pants off and oh gosh stop thinking about Poe like that because lust is a dirty and disrespectful thing---University. Mild religious guilt. Poe's thighs. And gratuitous socialism.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108





	Greener than Grass

**Author's Note:**

> Started this way back before the literal Plague back when Rise of Skywalker first came out. 
> 
> If the pandemic isn't the time to live vicariously through a university au, then when is?

“If you order online, you don’t have to factor in the cost of driving.” Poe is saying, waving one hand expansively. “But you do have to factor in the transport.”

Rey hums in acknowledgement without looking up. She’s got her face bent low over the coffee which has just arrived at their table.

“But if you order online, USPS is delivering it and they’re unionised?” Rose offers. She’s one of the only ones who can handle Poe when he gets like this-- prickly and bright-eyed and so, so eager.

“And unionisation rates have been declining…” Finn offers, just to see Poe’s face alight on the point, verbally seizing on it.

“Right-- right.” he says empathically, and then he’s gulping back his green tea-- ethically sourced; organic; fair trade-- before he continues. “And you should shop local of course, but in cases where it’s not possible--”

Finn’s never met anyone like him. Like any of them really. Nothing is off the table with Rey’s friends. The ethics of fast fashion. Monogamy. Single-crop agriculture. They have opinions on everything, and they’re so  _ open _ . Nobody has ever told them to keep their nose out of things. They must have been encouraged as children-- and isn’t that wonderful and a little miraculous?

He says as much to Rey later: “Your friends are wonderful,” and he tries to show it in his face. Really show it. Because it’s something he’s working on.

Only it must not be quite the right thing to say because Rey frowns for a moment-- was it too forward? He was always talking when it wasn’t his turn as a kid. He’s never grown out of it. He needs to apologise for overstepping-- something, before the ground falls out from under him.

But Rey’s frown dissipates, and she says “ _ Your _ friends too, Finn,” like it’s that easy. And maybe it is-- for people like her, and Poe, and Rose.

He’d met her while running track. It was the one sport he’d ever excelled in. It’s clean, precise. He doesn’t have to worry about disappointing anyone-- but that was part of the problem wasn’t it-- The Phasmas, the last of his string of foster families had always warned against his stubborn independent streak. Because independence only belied its true source: pride. And pride was a sin.

He’d been the only black kid in that church for the three years he was with them. And everyone always talked about how kind, how good, how  _ Christian _ it was of the Phasmas to take him in, with their five perfect blonde children and two dogs.

He still wakes up sweaty sometimes and tasting iron- bracing himself for another backhand.

But that was two years ago. And now he goes to talks with Rey on the socialist perspective on the 2008 financial crash, and attends a feminist critique talk with Rose focused on Cats-- was their effusive sexuality really progressive? Or just another way of reducing actresses to their bodies? 

“I grew up really religious,” he told Poe once, when he’d been shocked that Finn hadn’t even watched Mulan. “The family I was with didn’t like-- you know-- the whole thing.”

Because it’s still hard for him to choke it out. Because he’d believed it once, is the issue. He’d been like that.

But Poe is delighted-- he grins with all his teeth and his eyes crinkle at the corners: “Oh it’s great,” he says, like it isn’t a problem. “I wish I could watch it for the first time again-- it’s going to be amazing.”

Poe touches Finn a lot. A hand on his shoulder, at his elbow, at his wrist. It makes something burn low in Finn’s stomach. He wants to grab Poe’s hand, hold it still between his own. Just look at the broad fingers and the clean nails, cropped close. He wants to duck his head down to the juncture of Poe’s neck and shoulder and just  _ breathe.  _

He’d thought things like this before. In high school in the change room. Watching the sweat trail down the curve of Brendon’s back as he changed out of his track clothes. When Eloisa from Biology stood up on a chair to reach a beaker from an upper shelf and he’d thought  _ oh-- so this is what it’s like. _

He’d thought it was an unclean thought then.

He’s not sure if he still does now. 

But it’s hard not to notice Poe-- all his sharp angles and the way his nose juts out just a little too big. He notices it the next time they go for coffee and Finn is wedged up in the booth with the cold plaster wall on his left and Poe-- all jutting elbows and warm thighs-- pressed against his right. 

There’s a real piece of work in Rey’s climate change and colonialism class. She’s complaining to them about him-- “He interrupted the Prof again this morning,” she says before adopting a dull monotone in imitation of the student in question-- “Professor Owens, don’t you think it’s overblown to call it a climate crisis when…?”

Poe nudges Finn’s leg under the table and lets their feet tangle for a moment in a clear demonstration of sympathy as if to say “Get a load of that guy!”

Finn tries to hide his face behind his coffee cup. It must be doing something complicated--  _ a combination of please don’t ever stop and please stop but only so we can go back to your apartment and do this with our pants off and oh gosh stop thinking about Poe like that because lust is a dirty and disrespectful thing _ \-- 

Maybe he’s not as covert as he’d like to be because Poe nudges his hand this time. Just lets it rest against Finn’s on the table. His eyebrows ask “Everything okay?” and Finn tries to school his face into a “Yeah, I’m fine, just pissed on Rey’s behalf, you know?”

Poe bites his lip in response. But he doesn’t say anything. 

Rey does say something. Later, walking home in the rain and sharing one wobbly umbrella. Finn’s right arm is soaked and the left side of Rey’s hair is dripping down her collar.

“Poe’s into you, y’know?” she says. She’s smiling conspiratorially, small and secret. Like it’s nothing. Or maybe not nothing, but enough of a nothing that she can just say it outside on the sidewalk in front of a Shoppers where people are hiding under the awning and walking and just-- being there. Around. Close enough to hear.

“Poe’s just nice,” he tells her, even though as he says it he realises he doesn’t believe it himself. Poe  _ is _ nice, but this maybe, is something else. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about it. Guilty, probably. Because it’s a sin. Or some people say it’s a sin. But really, at the core of it, something pleased and warm and suspiciously like hope has begun to bubble up. 

Rey rolls her eyes, “Don’t be thick, arsehole.”

“Hey, who’re you calling you-- y’now.”

And that gets her going again-- “You can  _ curse _ , Finn. I know you can-- say it with me: Fuck.” She draws out the u and pops the k satisfyingly. But he won’t say it, and they tussle for a bit, ribbing each other until he’s soaked all over and Rey’s hair is dripping wetly  _ everywhere.  _

Rose, who’s rooming with Rey this term, wordlessly grabs towels when they finally stumble in.

But midterms catch up to him, and he hangs out with Rey’s group less in favour of restless nights staring at astrophysics textbooks and filling out repeated practice questions on solar luminosity. 

Poe texts him-- pictures of the dogs he sees on the way to class and the fat squirrels he finds waddling around the college quad. He’s been holed up in a library somewhere too, he’s a senior and has been filling out Masters applications between exams and book reviews. He’d gotten published last year in an anthropology review following a summer spent digging in Bulgaria. He’d been tanned and scruffy when he came back-- looking like something straight out of one of Finn’s wet dreams.

And now Poe was across campus in one of the humanities libraries using his break time to zoom in pointedly on a pigeon that was strutting along the pavement in front of the campus’ most beloved pasta shop.

_ Ngl.  _ Poe texts.  _ im jealous of that bird. pls. save me. _

He follows it up with a string of hands-clasped praying emojis.

Finn responds with a skull. And then, because maybe he’s feeling the cabin fever too, or maybe because he’d drank a few too many Black Cherry White Claws last night and was still feeling their effects, he sends:  _ Finish your paper and pasta is on me. _

He stuffs his phone in his bag after that. Can’t look at the screen or the time. His hands are shaking finely, but maybe it’s because of the doppler shift chart for Alpha Centauri.

He only resists for twenty minutes. But it’s something.

Poe has simply sent back a heart-eyes emoji.

There’s a text from Rey too:  _ has ur brain oozed out of ur ears yet? _

_ Maybe.  _

Midterms seem insurmountable and looming until suddenly he’s submitted three papers, pulled a handful of all-nighters and written several increasingly questionable exams. He picks up an A and a handful of Bs and the satisfaction of a solid good night’s sleep. All of the mugs in his dorm room are casualties of the season, stained with coffee rings and looking a little worn-out. But there’s suddenly so much  _ time _ , and Finn is getting better at letting things lie-- just a little.

But not this. He texts Poe for pasta, and they meet outside the Earth Sciences building. It’s begun to snow weakly, fat flakes drifting down to catch in Poe’s dark hair where it peeks out from beneath his toque. He’s already wrapped up in a parka and an absurdly large and obnoxious mustard scarf.

Finn laughs when he sees the mittens-- green with reindeers-- the sound bubbles up before he can stop himself. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, and a sudden panicked worry before Poe is laughing too.

“It doesn’t get this cold in Guatemala, okay?” he’s openly staring at Finn, dark eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Didn’t you move here when you were three?” Finn pretends to consider it, a hand at his jaw.

Poe snorts and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “smartass” under his breath before he’s tugging Finn along, hand at his elbow and so near that Finn imagines he can feel the warmth radiating off of him despite the layers of sweaters and jackets and mittens. 

Daddyo’s is a quick walk away-- a hole in the wall pasta joint on the first floor of an old Victorian with a slightly askew red sign. It’s crammed, as all places at campus are, with tables shoved haphazardly together so that there’s no choice but to sit with knees knocking and feet bumping beneath the vinyl tabletop. They’re locally owned and they offer gluten free  _ and _ vegan-- “but I think gluten free is a bit of a fad diet” he tells Poe.

He tells Poe too how he hadn’t known the names of anything except for spaghetti until he was far, far too old.

“Pray tell?”

“Okay-- don’t laugh. You swear?” He’s leaning forward, earnest and already smiling a bit despite himself. Poe nods solemnly. “The spiral ones-- rotini?-- they were swirlies--”

But Poe does laugh open and happy, throwing his head back and exposing the long line of his throat and the stubble at the cut of his jaw. And Finn laughs too, less easily, but more easily than it once was. He can’t help but press his knees to Poe’s-- to feel the shart jut of bones and the solid strength of him. 

He gets back at Poe later when he orders no less than three types of pasta-- spaghetti and penne and the ones shaped like little bowties-- all with the same tomato sauce and upon which he piles high red pepper flakes. 

Finn looks between his own plate-- penne with pesto, an alfredo, and mac and cheese-- and back to Poe. 

Poe catches him staring, eyebrow quirking and lips turning up at the edges.

“Okay-- hold on here, pal. If it ain’t broke why fix it?” Poe’s gearing up to argue, finger held aloft, and Finn is so, so fond of him.

But Finn tells the rest of the group all the same, later that week over coffees and cakes and piles of study notes, and they laugh. And Poe laughs too, and then winks when he catches Finn looking.

The term picks up again after the brief reprieve. Rey continues raging about the asshole in her Climate Change and Colonialism course-- but now through text. And Poe, on the cusp of graduation, texts Finn constantly about grad schools. 

_ they have a skating rink on campus in front of the museum _

_ Do you even skate?  _ Finn texts back

_ no... but i could learn?? _

It makes something twist uncomfortably in Finn’s gut. Because he’d begun to take them all for granted-- Rey and Rose and Poe-- all of them. Did that make him ungrateful? He wasn’t sure. But how easily he’d come to rely on them frightened him. And in a few short weeks they’d be off with their families, or abroad, doing impossibly exciting and wonderful things. And Finn? He’d be here. Where he always was. Working in his college library and barely making a dent in his student loans.

There was no family to go back to. And certainly no way to travel to Bulgaria or Turkey or even somewhere hopelessly boring-- like Winnipeg. 

He doesn’t tell Rey this. He doesn’t tell Rose, even when he runs into her between classes and she tells him she’s flying for Ecuador in July. And he most certainly doesn’t tell Poe, whose texting has grown erratic and panicked as term draws to a close

It doesn’t matter so much anyway, when he’s holed up in his dorm room or on the twenty-second floor of the library downing coffee after coffee and staring at stellar transit graphs. Three repeated dips was confirmation of an exoplanet-- but there was a gap in the data. What if it was a dust cloud? 

He stares at the charts until his eyes ache and Poe texts him: _chose mcgill._

He texts back a string of celebratory emojis, and firmly doesn’t cry before he goes to sleep. Because it would be prideful and cruel to deny Poe his own happiness.

He doesn’t see them all again until after his final exam. He’s packed up his dorm room into cardboard boxes, but failed to label them. A problem for future-Finn to deal with when he transports them across campus to his summer residence. And then, when there’s nothing he can find to delay the inevitable anymore, he heads out to Rey’s end of term party.

He checks himself out in the window of the shoe museum on the way there, makes sure that his jeans are cuffed right and that he’s not looking utterly miserable. 

The party is already in full swing when he gets there. There are people passing a joint between each other on the front step and the tell-tale trail of beer cans up the front path. He thinks he spots one of his Astrophysics profs in the kitchen doing shots, but he’s quickly tugged away by Rey who presses a White Claw into his hands. 

“Have you met Ben?” she’s shouting, holding a can of beer aloft and three sheets to the wind. She gestures towards a tall dark-haired man who’s standing uncomfortably in the corner. “He’s the arsehole from my Climate Change and Colonialism class-- Hey! Arsehole! This is Finn.” 

“I’m Ben,” the arsehole says plaintively.

“Finn,” Finn offers awkwardly.

“I’m just taking that class as an elective,” Ben says stoically, but Finn must make the mistake of looking too interested because the next moment he’s shouting, launching into a rant about his physics final. “--why should we assume there’s no friction? There’s ALWAYS friction. The man is a MORON. It’s IMPRACTICAL to not consider it, and I TOLD the Professor that. The Examination DEPENDED on it.” 

Finn tries very hard to nod in agreeance and to stop flinching visibly.

Ben has just launched into another rant-- or maybe it’s the same-- on factoring in air pressure into the equations when there’s a hand at Finn’s elbow.

“Finn!” It’s Poe, because of course it is. “You’ve met Ben!”

“Dameron,” Ben says stiffly.

“Ben, I just gotta talk to Finn for a quick sec, but I’ll bring him back, buddy, I swear,” he says as he tugs Finn bodily away by the elbow.

“You’re not going to bring me back, are you?” Finn whispers frantically when they’re out of earshot. 

“Lord,” Poe laughs. “No.”

“Thank you,” Finn tells him, and he means it. And then: “I could kiss you for saving me.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. He can’t chalk it up to the Lime White Claw, because he’s not even halfway through the can. Somewhere his brain signals must have gotten crossed.

Poe just cocks an eyebrow, his lips tugging up into a lopsided grin before he says simply and a little lewd: “Why don’t you?”

But the next moment there’s a crash from the foyer, a lot of shouting and someone comes to frantically tug Poe away to “deal with the LAX bros once and for all!” 

“Don’t go anywhere!” Poe shouts to him over the din.

He downs his White Claw while he’s waiting, and then, feeling sweaty and nervous. He takes the moment to pick his way to the back of the house, where he can wander out onto the back porch and lean against the damp railing.

Poe finds him sometime later, breathless and sweating at the temples.

He crowds close his breath at Finn’s ear and says: “Where did you go? I phoned you.”

Finn checks his phone, because it’s hard to look at Poe right now. There’s ten missed calls.

“Sorry--” he starts as Poe says “Can I?”

And then they’re kissing, out where anyone could see, Poe with his hands clenched in the collar of Finn’s jacket and his tongue is in Finn’s mouth, incessant and wet and gosh-- Finn bites him and Poe makes a  _ sound _ and suddenly he feels weak in the knees and shaky. 

He pulls back.

“Was that okay?” Poe says urgently, he’s still got his hands wrapped up in Finn’s coat. “Finn? Finn?”

“I just like you,” Finn says, and he’s mortified to find that he’s choked up. “So much.” 

“Christ, Finn.” Poe says, relief palpable. And then he’s scooping Finn up, clinging to him, digging his nose into his neck and breathing wetly by his ear. “I like you too. So much.”

“Can we--,” he had Poe’s tongue in his mouth seconds ago. He’s not sure why the words are so hard to get out now. “Y’know? Just go somewhere?” 

They do go-- Poe’s hand a hot brand at the small of his back. Their shoulders and hands knock together as they walk down the street.

“I live just a couple of blocks over,” Poe tells him, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

Poe’s place is dark and quiet. 

“My roommate’s out,” he says. 

It’s Finn who kisses him this time, his hands up springing up to wind themselves in Poe’s hair. When he tugs the curls between his fingers Poe honest-to-goodness moans and his hand on the back of Finn’s neck tightens.

He pulls back to breathe, ducking his head down so that it rests on Finn’s collarbone.

“If you want to..” he says, trailing off nervously. Finn has never seen him nervous before. “I’d really-- God- really like to.”

“I want to,” Finn says.

He’s never done this before-- not with a man-- and he tells Poe this as he shucks his shirt-- as Poe’s hands roam over the jumping muscles of his stomach.

“It’s okay,” Poe says, kissing the sensitive spot behind his ear, the corner of his mouth, before drawing back to look at him seriously. “Whatever you want-- it’s okay.” 

What he wants is to get his hands on Poe’s thighs, so he does. 

“You’ve got enormous thighs,” he tells Poe, because he’s lost all filter.

“Oh yeah?” Poe says voice hitching. He’s laughing a bit, his mouth quirking at the side and Finn kisses the laugh from his lips. And he kisses him until he’s got a leg wedged up between Poe’s and the laughs turn into a moan. 

“Finn-- just,” Poe trips on his pants as he tries to free his legs from his jeans because Finn won’t let go. He laughs, and Finn laughs, until Poe gets his mouth back onto Finn’s neck and then they don’t speak very much more at all. 

“I just--” he says desperately-- breathlessly and Poe interrupts him to say “Whatever you want.”

What he wants is to cling to Poe and never let go. What happens is that Poe sneaks a hand down between their legs until he can shove down Finn’s boxers and then his own. And then it’s just skin-- wide expanses of it so that Finn feels lit up from within. He kisses the inside of Poe’s thighs, and his drags his nails along the muscles of his back. He can’t stop touching him, even when he notices Poe watching him with open awe. 

He can’t stay still long enough for Poe to get a proper hand or mouth on him. He’s driven by a restless energy and thrusts up between Poe’s legs-- against his abs-- anywhere he can reach-- as they kiss seemingly endlessly until the heat pooling in his belly pours over and he comes. Poe holds him through it, petting at his hair and shushing him for what seems like minutes or hours or days. 

“I got you,” he says. When Finn opens his mouth to apologise. “God. You’re so hot. You’re beautiful.”

And then Poe is flipping them, his dark hair in disarray and haloed golden by the light. Finn’s heart is in his throat as he watches Poet move, the shift of the muscles in his shoulders and the wavering lovely  _ oh _ of his mouth. And then Poe balances on one arm over Finn and he spits into his own hand, stripping himself roughly until he comes over Finn’s stomach and onto himself in short spurts.

He only stays in bed briefly when he’s done, hand curled weakly at Finn’s shoulder as he catches his breath. 

“I’ll be back, okay?” he says, when he rolls out of bed, and before Finn can worry about what that means Poe returns with a warm washcloth that he drags over Finn’s stomach and then over himself.

“I thought it would be rude to use a sock for the first time,” he says, when he catches Finn looking at him inquisitively. “Next time though, is fair game-- if you want, that is.”

Finn wants. But he can only nod weakly. He wants-- So much.

“You’re leaving.” he says instead.

Poe tugs him over until he can look him in the eye, and Finn takes him in-- his big nose and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. The serious furl of his eyebrows.

“Not until July. And Montreal? It’s a train ride away. Whatever you want? I want.”

He’d never allowed himself to hope. But if he had, he wouldn’t have imagined sleeping curled around Poe, or the awkwardness of waking up with someone because your arm’s gone uncomfortably numb, he wouldn’t have imagined the lack of guilt, or Poe shaking him awake in the morning to say “D’you wanna go get coffee?” still sleep rumpled and so beautiful.

And later, he wouldn’t imagine himself dipping his head until his lips brush the shell of Poe’s ear, and saying simply: “I do want.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [ Sebastian ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserPhoenix/profile) for the feedback on the smutty bits and to Layla for everything else.
> 
> Title is from Sappho 31:  
>  _"That man seems to me to be equal to the gods  
>  who is sitting opposite you  
> and hears you nearby  
> speaking sweetly_  
>    
> _and laughing delightfully, which indeed  
>  makes my heart flutter in my breast;  
> for when I look at you even for a short time,  
> it is no longer possible for me to speak_
> 
> _but it is as if my tongue is broken  
>  and immediately a subtle fire has run over my skin,  
> I cannot see anything with my eyes,  
> and my ears are buzzing_
> 
> _a cold sweat comes over me, trembling  
>  seizes me all over, I am paler  
> than grass, and I seem nearly  
> to have died._
> 
> _but everything must be endured..._


End file.
